


sun on her shoulders, wind in her hair

by myosotises



Category: The Owl House (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Amity Blight Has a Crush on Luz Noceda, Awkward Crush, Bisexual Luz Noceda, Canon Compliant, Crushes, Don't think it's fully abuse but there's some weird stuff going on with the blight parents, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Her mom especially, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It fits into the timeline i think just not sure where, It's so minor i'm not even sure it counts, Lesbian Amity Blight, Light Angst, Listen i know luz is oblivious to her crush on amity but not after this, Oblivious Luz Noceda, She gets a little less oblivious i promise, So just to be on the safe side, Teen Crush, Teen Romance, They're going to be in love someday, What am i supposed to tag with this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:42:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26693152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myosotises/pseuds/myosotises
Summary: Amity’s just standing there,standing there, a perfectly normal action and—had she always been so pretty? Granted, Luz always knew she wasaesthetically pleasing, had seen it since that day she saw Amity talking to Willow in that clearing—she does haveeyes—but this is beyond looking nice. How had she never noticed?Luz goes out to find Amity (the girl she may or may not have a crush on).
Relationships: Amity Blight/Luz Noceda
Comments: 25
Kudos: 349





	sun on her shoulders, wind in her hair

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from [Epic III Live](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K77nr8-uhZ8) from the musical Hadestown! (Yeah, this is my second somewhat Hadestown-related fic lol.) Inspired by the way Persephone is described in the verse where you can find the lyric because it's absolutely lovely :) Enjoy!

It’s a nice day today. As Luz wanders over to the grudgby field to find Amity—Willow had seen her leave in that direction a few minutes after the bell—she tilts her head back to look up; the sky is clear of any dark clouds, the sunlight warm on her face. Her eyes fall shut for a moment and the breeze fills her lungs, clean and earthy from the pine trees ringing Hexside along with a hint of bonfire smoke that was just a part of the Boiling Isles.

Smiling now, she’s about to turn the corner to the spectators’ stands when she hears Boscha’s voice, saccharine and falsely sympathetic. Her feet stall.

“Don’t worry, Amity! I’ll be sure to let my mom know what’s going on,” she’s saying, and Luz can already see the snide smirk on her face. “She can tell Mrs. Blight and your tiny problem will be fixed! I _really_ can’t believe you let it get this far.”

“Whatever, Boscha. If you want to keep up with your petty power plays, go ahead.” _Amity_. So Willow’s eyes were right. Luz’s tempted to walk right up and meet them, but judging from the edge in Amity’s tone, she probably shouldn’t interfere. Still, the knowledge doesn’t make holding back any easier, and she doesn’t want to eavesdrop on a private conversation either.

“That’s it?” Boscha makes a sound of disdain. “Seriously? What happened to you? You’re throwing away everything you’ve worked for since you were a kid! For Half-A-Witch and her little friend? For a _human_?”

“For Willow and Gus,” Amity says, her voice hardening, “For Luz. They have names. They’re my _friends_.”

“ _We_ were your friends!”

“Were you?”

Silence, then a noise that sounds almost like a growl. “Ugh! I don’t have time for this. I don’t even know why I tried to give you one last chance, when _clearly_ even a Moonlight Conjuring couldn’t reanimate your social life at this point.”

Amity doesn’t respond.

“Fine!” she snaps, “I can’t _wait_ for this conversation with my mom. You better watch out next time your mother has a book club meeting.”

“Whatever, Boscha,” Amity repeats, her words perfectly level.

Huffing, Boscha rounds the corner, her entourage—for once—not hovering right on her tail, and her eyes land on Luz, awkwardly hoping to disappear into the shadow of the bleachers. Her expression twists into a sneer, but her gaze flickers away soon after, dismissive.

“ _Human_ ,” is all she says before she keeps walking, chin lifted.

Luz frowns at the witch’s retreating back but doesn’t follow her; Amity’s more important. Without sparing Boscha any more time, she runs around the bend before pausing again. “Amity?”

Her friend’s facing the grudgby field, leaning against the railing at the front of the stands with her arms propped up and her head in her hands, fingers digging into the aquamarine strands. Hearing her voice, Amity raises her head halfway to look at her. “Luz?”

Every possible word on the tip of her tongue dies.

Amity’s just standing there, _standing there_ , a perfectly normal action and—had she always been so pretty? Granted, Luz always knew she was _aesthetically pleasing_ , had seen it since that day she saw Amity talking to Willow in that clearing—she does have _eyes_ —but this is beyond looking nice. How had she never noticed?

There’s a flush to her cheeks and her eyes gleam bright, but for some reason, Luz’s attention keeps drawing back to her hair—she’s never seen it like this before. Unbound; her usual black elastic wrapped around Amity’s wrist rather than holding up a ponytail. The usually secured hair hangs loose as a result, framing the shape of her face in a darker shade of blue-green than the rest—and more brown than teal at all, she notes. Her hair must be growing out.

“Uh, Luz?” Amity says again, straightening now as she faces her fully. “Everything okay?”

Her hand raises like in an afterthought, drifting up to her hair. That shakes Luz out of her trance and she unfreezes, pulling up a smile. “Everything’s fine! Um, I was just looking for you.”

Amity’s eyes widen, the flush in her cheeks deepening. Is she really that surprised? “Do you need my help with something?”

“Not exactly.” She moves closer, mirroring Amity’s position against the railing. “King wants to be a member of our book club and I thought I’d check with you.”

That coaxes a smile from her and Amity turns her head away a little, the corner of her mouth tilting upwards. Not that Luz is looking at her mouth. Or at Amity in general.

She whips her head around in the direction of the field hastily, confused at her thoughts—she’s used to the constant rush of her mind, it’s just how she thinks, but it’s never been so concentrated on _Amity_. Who’s just her friend. A really good friend, but _just a friend_.

“I thought it was a secret club.” Her tone is just as unreadable as it had been during her talk with Boscha and Luz glances at her, alarmed—only to find Amity still smiling at her, gold eyes glinting with amusement.

Heat crawls up her neck but she laughs it off, and Amity’s grin widens. “I might be able to tell him no. If you want it to keep being, you know, _our_ secret.”

Her smile drops instantly, a matching blush spreading across her cheeks as she stutters. “I didn’t—that’s not—uh—it wasn’t—”

Luz shrugs easily, even as her brain panics, sirens ringing in her ears because _what is she doing_ and _why did she say that_ and _where had this confidence been hiding_. “It was just a thought.”

Her friend still won’t meet her eyes and the guilt is imminent—was that too far?

“So, uh, what were you and Boscha talking about?” she ventures, trying another tactic.

Amity’s gaze shoots to her before darting away just as quickly, on Luz one second and gone the next. “Did you hear?”

It’s better to be honest, right? Luz doesn’t want to keep secrets from Amity—or any of her friends obviously, but _not Amity_. “…Sort of.” The other girl doesn’t move, waiting. “Something about you having a problem? And she’d tell your mom?”

Amity lowers her head; a lock of hair tucked behind her ear slipping with the movement, fanning out in a curtain that blocks her face from Luz’s point of view. “Sounds about right.”

“What did she mean by that? Do you need help?”

Nothing.

“Amity…” She reaches out, but hesitates, hand hovering over her friend’s shoulder. It should be a simple gesture. It _is_ a simple gesture—touch is easy, it’s how she shows her affection with other people. So why is it hard to put a hand on Amity’s shoulder? “Whatever it is, you can talk to me, if you want. I promise I won’t tell anyone, not even Willow or Gus.”

Amity sighs, and in one swift action, hops onto the railing. Her feet swing above the floor and it’s obviously a familiar spot for her. “That’s not what I’m afraid of.”

Luz frowns, confused. “Then what are you—?”

“I don’t want you to see me differently,” she blurts out, staring down at her boots. “I still don’t know what you think of me _now_ , and if—if you knew about my mom…” She doesn’t finish her sentence.

“Well—” Luz climbs onto the railing beside her, and before she can overthink it, leans over to nudge her gently. “I can tell you that I think you’re an amazing witch and even better person. And I hope you know you can come to me for anything. You’re my friend, Amity. I care about you.”

Amity tilts her head as she looks at her, almost bewildered. “But…you know about the stuff I used to do. I wasn’t a good friend to Willow. Or you. I hung out with Boscha and Skara. I hurt people, right on this field.”

“Maybe,” she concedes, “But you’ve apologized for that. And you didn’t know any better before with grudgby, or have any choice in who your friends were.” She waits, but Amity doesn’t seem convinced. “After the Thorn Vault, you stopped playing right?”

“Because I hurt my teammates.”

“Well, Boscha’s tried to hurt us too but you don’t see her stepping down from captain any time soon.”

Amity tries for a smile, however weak. “Is Boscha the lowest standard now?”

“No, but she is a bully.”

“I was a bully too,” she reminds, softer.

“But you’re trying to be better, aren’t you?” she asks, and Amity falls quiet. “See, you get it, Amity. You’re smart, and brave, and kind, and selfless and strong and understanding—even when you try to hide it sometimes, for whatever reason—and I can name a million other good things if you want. You’re amazing at magic, and you try to do the right thing whenever you can, and just—you’re wonderful. Whatever problem you have, well, we can fix this together, right?”

She looks over at Amity again to find her gaping at Luz, completely blushing now. Had she gone too overboard with the compliments? They’re true, after all—they needed to be said. Then Amity smiles at her, wholehearted and sweet, and Luz returns the grin. “Thank you.”

“For what?” she answers.

Amity turns to look back over the field again, just as something brushes the ends of her fingers. Luz looks down quickly, startled, before following the black-painted nails to their owner. Amity retreats slightly as Luz stares blankly for a moment—this is _Amity_ —but as soon as her fingers shrink back, she moves without leaving any time to second-guess.

Her friend releases a breath as Luz covers Amity’s hand with her own, and then she starts to talk, still watching the empty sports field. “The problem’s my hair, I guess. I mean, it’s not the _real_ problem, but it’s what Boscha was talking about. She likes to hold it over my head, always has since that time she caught my mom criticizing me for it.”

Luz eyes the lines of Amity’s hair, the brown slowly winding into—or _past_ , rather—the dye. She doesn’t see a _problem_. Whatever issue Mrs. Blight has with it is beyond her—in her _humble_ opinion, Amity’s all the prettier for it. Not that she wasn’t more than pretty already, but Luz likes the look; the slow, sure shift from complete perfection to someone more _present_. Less perfect, more approachable. To someone without the stone walls and false hostility—to the Amity Luz is friends with, the outside changing to match the inside.

Wait. Luz blinks once, registering Amity’s words. “Your mom criticizes you for your hair?”

She sighs, shoulders slumping. “I don’t fit in with my family, Luz. The Blights…my mom’s really proud of our name and our history and everything. She’s proud of what is a part of that name, which includes, um, the hair. The green. So when I showed up without that…”

She blinks again, still absorbing the information as understanding and apprehension—no, that was too pale of a word, when it’s more of a mounting dread, or sense of unease—building up in that spot between her stomach and her chest. “Your mom _made_ you dye your hair?”

Amity—unshaken, determined, resilient Amity—nods, slowly. “It wasn’t terrible. I don’t know when she thought of doing it, but it was before I was Top Student so there wasn’t really anything to deflect her, um, goals. But I got to choose the shade! At least it made me feel, uh—” Here she peeks over at Luz, flushing again. “It made me feel closer to Azura. I was okay with it. Learned to be okay with it.”

“Then why is it a problem now?” she says quietly, uncertain of whether she can even do anything to help. Whether this is helping. But as long as Amity’s willing to talk to her, she’ll listen.

Amity’s other hand tugs on a strand of hair at the front, the motion seemingly absent. “I don’t even know myself. Just…I’m more than a Blight, you know? Or I want to be. And as long as—as long as I have this _mark_ , it doesn’t feel right.” Her fingers stop playing with her hair, settling back onto the wooden railing as her voice drops, lower. “It feels fake, and I don’t want that anymore.”

“Amity—” She can’t find the right words to say, to tell her she’s more than her name, _so_ much more, more than Luz could ever explain when she doesn’t even know how to start sorting through her feelings yet. Still, the witch looks at her, facing her fully again, and Luz realizes she’s _crying_. Or not crying, exactly, but tearing up at least. That faint shine of tears—same as earlier, when Luz had found her here, standing alone—hangs over her eyes, and finally, Luz knows that she was about to cry when Boscha left. “Oh, _Amity_.”

“I’m sorry,” her friend whispers, about to turn away as she ducks her head again. “You didn’t ask for this, you shouldn’t— _I_ shouldn’t—I know—”

“Stop,” Luz says firmly, pulling her in for a hug without hesitation. _This_ feels completely natural, and though panic flares for a moment when her arms wrap around the other girl, it fades as Amity returns the motion, letting her forehead rest against Luz’s shoulder. “There’s no reason for you to apologize, Amity. I’m glad you told me.”

“But—”

“And you’re wrong,” she adds.

That surprises a laugh out of her, the sound ringing clear as a bell despite the strained undertone. “What?”

“You’re wrong,” she says. “You aren’t fake. Do you really think people like you because of your name?”

“Did you forget Boscha and Skara and everyone were only my friends because they had to be? We’re all just pretending to like each other, for our parents. ”

“What about Willow?” she counters, “She likes you. Gus too. And I—” She pulls back a little, just to emphasize her sentence, but it fails, her mind betraying her as every thought in her head clears, leaving only _Amity_.

She really is too pretty. Like a character from an Azura book, or a figment of Luz’s imagination—a vision, a dream. Except, as they sit together now—yet another completely mundane thing to do—Luz reasons that she can’t be, not like this, with the sun beaming behind Amity, painting the other girl’s edges in vivid, clean lines of glowing sunlight.

Still, they’re so close now, and Luz thinks she could spend hours just like this; counting the lashes casting shadows across Amity’s cheeks, tracing invisible constellations between the subtle freckles scattered on her skin, watching and waiting for the sun to find the right angle and turn golden eyes into honey. And in one passing moment, she wonders if they could stay here forever and do exactly that.

Then an aimless breeze flies by, pulling on Luz’s cowl mischievously, tugging at stray wisps of Amity’s hair with the swirl of the wind. It dissipates as rapidly as it appears, just as pleasant and fleeting as the one Luz had felt walking over here, but it’s enough to draw Luz out of her slight trance. Enough to remind her of what she’d been saying.

“And I like you,” she says, finishing her sentence as she smiles at Amity.

“Luz—”

“You _are_ more than just a Blight,” she continues, her hands moving before she even knows where she’s going with this, pulling out the ever-present notepad and pencil from her pocket. Her eyes flick from the paper to the girl in front of her as she draws the glyph, still speaking. “You are more than your family, or your history, or your hair. You’re more than just a witch, or your magic. You’re…you’re _Amity_.”

As Amity’s name leaves her lips in a whisper, full of meaning Luz hasn’t dissected herself yet, she taps the glyph with the pad of her index finger. The paper curls on itself, crumpling inwards as a flower blooms into being in its place, outlined in the green glow of plant magic.

Luz leans forward to tuck the flower behind Amity’s ear, only thinking about how nicely the pink of the petals would look against the blue-green-brown. But her attention catches on the lock of hair that had shaken loose earlier, and she fixes it first, slipping it back above Amity’s ear before placing the flower beside it, the stem twining through the strands. It’s only as she hears the faint hitch in the back of her friend’s throat—something she can only hear because of their proximity—that she pauses.

And then, for whatever reason, Luz stays there, suspended in that small space between them, breaths away from Amity.

Amity stares back at her, eyes wide and a flush to her cheeks, so _so_ pretty, especially with the flower—Luz’s flower—in her hair. She’s absolutely incredible, Luz thinks, clever and thoughtful and so wildly brilliant Luz can’t believe her mom doesn’t see it too. That she can’t see Amity for who she is; and see Amity for herself.

Abruptly, Luz realizes she’s wondering how it’d feel to kiss her. Not that it’s the first time the thought has ever appeared in her head, but this _is_ the first time she’s really considering acting on it.

Still, despite that, uncertainty drags at her. What if she’s misreading everything? What if Amity’s not interested in the slightest, and all Luz is doing is projecting onto her? What if it’s just her imagination, thinking there could even be something between them? She does want to kiss Amity, but not if Amity doesn’t want to kiss her back.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks instead, and her tone is soft, the words trapping themselves in the air. “About all of it?”

Amity falters visibly, her lips turning downwards faintly—Luz pulls her gaze away from Amity’s mouth. “I didn’t—I was _scared_ , Luz. This is who my mom is, she’s proud and opinionated and assured and just…I’m _related_ to her.”

“Amity. Look at me.” She does, gold eyes raising slowly but settling on her anyway. “I’m going to tell you as many times as you need me to, okay? You are your own person. You’re you. And your mom can be her but it’s fine, because no matter what, you are always going to be _more_ than a Blight, okay? To me, at least. Always.” Their hands had separated at some point, now lying on the wood a few inches apart, so Luz reaches out to squeeze Amity’s. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Her friend’s smile is a little tentative, but when Luz grins back, it broadens into something more earnest—something sincere, open.

And when she sees it, Luz doesn’t think at all, leaning into that small remaining space between them until her own lips are brushing Amity’s cheek, pressing a kiss into the soft skin. She draws back a second later as her brain starts to catch up to her actions and she jumps off the railing hurriedly.

“Um,” Amity says, behind her.

Glancing back with wide eyes, Luz gives her another grin—she can’t tell if it’s easier or harder to find one than before, with a multitude of emotions all crowding together in the hollow of her chest. Is she giddy? Panicking? Is there even a difference? “We should, uh, go back.”

“Right.”

“Yeah, um, we can’t be late to Abomination 101!” She adds a laugh, but the sound rings clumsily. She’s panicking. Definitely panicking.

“I, uh, I mean we could…” Amity’s still blinking at her, before her eyes fall slowly to their hands, still linked. Before Luz can move, a smile stretches across her face and she slides off the railing too. “But yeah. Don’t want to be late.”

“Okay,” she says, now completely confused at where this has gone.

“Okay,” Amity echoes, and they start walking off the stands. With their hands still together.

Neither of them address it though, and as they step out of the shadows of the bleachers, Luz sneaks a look at Amity’s face. It’s just as red as her own, and she tries to stifle her suddenly uncontrollable grin. It takes all she has to not burst into a loud whoop or a jump because they’re _holding hands_.

Maybe she isn’t misreading everything after all. Maybe there is something there, something definitely worth exploring. Maybe Amity really is one of those special things she’s been searching for forever.

And as Amity looks back over to meet her gaze, haloed in light and wind and magic, Luz concedes that maybe, _maybe_ she does have a crush.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first attempt at writing these two! Not quite sure how in character they are but I had fun so I thought I'd post it anyway. It also took a while since a lot of my time has been lost ever since around the beginning of September, so I might as well :) I probably shouldn't even be awake at this point, maybe there are mistakes somewhere. If you have any thoughts, please let me know!


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